


Here Now

by ideliagirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bran still has visions, But is still elected King in the North, Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jon is Jeor Mormont's bastard grandson, Jon is a Mormont, Ned was allowed to take the Black, Robb and Cat lived, Robb is Lord of Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 11:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11782206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideliagirl/pseuds/ideliagirl
Summary: Sansa Stark doesn't understand how she got here. As the newly betrothed to Jon Snow--former Night's Watchman, bastard grandson of Jeor Mormont, and newly-elected King in the North.But her mother and brother Robb tell her it is for the good of the North, and that everyone has to do what they must if they're to survive the coming Long Night. And if her father gave his life for his decision to allow Wildlings south of The Wall, then marrying the ruggedly handsome man and becoming Queen in the North is a small price to pay.But she doesn't understand why this brave and fierce man would want her. On their wedding night, he does everything he can to show her why.





	1. Newly Elected King

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Ned really WAS allowed to take the Black rather than be executed, Sansa and Arya returned to the North along with him, and Robb became Lord of Winterfell when Ned relinquished the title. Ned became Lord Commander after Jeor Mormont died, instead of Jon. 
> 
> Jon is still a bastard, but the bastard grandson of Jeor Mormont, who joined The Night's Watch at 12. Jon ranged with Ned before becoming his steward, and was killed by the traitors along with Ned, but Melisandre was unable to bring Ned back when she revived Jon.

Through the years, Sansa’s vision of what she thought her life would be had changed many times over, due to mistakes, loss, regret, struggle. But still, she couldn’t quite grasp when or how exactly this newest version had become a reality. She couldn’t quite grasp why they were all _here_ now. Why she was here now.

Sansa walked down the corridor of Winterfell that led toward her brother’s study and took a deep breath, steeling and steadying herself for what was to come. Since Robb had returned from Castle Black the night before, ravens by the hundreds had flown in and out of the rookery. So many, in fact, that Maester Luwin had deputized most of Winterfell’s literate into working to read and write the scrolls.

But her lady mother and Robb had seen fit to keep Sansa from the rookery, and instead had called her to the Lord of Winterfell’s study—a fact that intrigued, enraged, and shamed her in equal parts.

It led her to believe—even though it was many years and many assurances to the contrary later—that she was still being blamed for the series of unfortunate events in King’s Landing that led to her father being branded a traitor and forced to take The Black before he could return to the North, her family could retain lordship of Winterfell, and she and Arya could return home.

They had seemingly made their peace with it. Robb became a fine lord, making the thousands of years of House Stark proud. And Ned’s experience and natural leadership in facing the coming Long Night led to him being named Lord Commander not long after Commander Mormont had passed away.

There was still a pang in her heart when she thought of her father. His decision to do what he thought was right in allowing tens of thousands of Wildlings south of the wall to spare them from almost-assured slaughter at the hands of White Walkers and their wight hordes, also almost-assuredly led to him being betrayed and killed by a handful of his own Black Brothers.

Eddard Stark lived his life by honor, truth and decency. And was slow to realize that hardly anyone else lived by that same code as stringently as he did. If he hadn’t been so good, he might not have been branded as a traitor. But then if he hadn’t been branded, marginalized and driven north—she and Arya would still be in the snake’s pit of King’s Landing and the whole of the North would be unprepared for what they would face in the Long Night.

She knocked on the iron door-knocker and heard her brother’s voice “Come in.”

She opened the door to his study and entered to find her brother sitting in a chair, quietly speaking to her mother, who turned to Sansa and smiled tenderly. “Hello, sweet girl.”

“Mother.” Sansa greeted before turning fully to Robb. “You wished to see me, my lord?”

Robb chuckled. “I wish you wouldn’t call me that. Makes me feel old.”

“I’m sorry.” Sansa nodded, then looked to her hands. “You keep me from the raven scrolls all of Winterfell is in a tizzy over, then you have me come to your study.” She looked up firmly. “Felt like an official summons.”

“Sansa. We’re sorry.” Her mother sighed softly. “We just didn’t want you to find out from any but us.”

“Find out?”

Robb stood, moved behind his desk and motioned for Sansa to take the seat he’d vacated. “We’ve settled on a betrothal for you.” He smiled as best he could. “A Northman.”

That she already knew. When Robb finally agreed to a betrothal for Sansa, she knew it would be to a northern house. What surprised her was that any northern house would want her. “So, the whole of the North has finally forgiven me for losing them their liege lord.”

“Sansa, don’t be sullen!” Her mother admonished.

She huffed back at her. “I’m the eldest daughter of the Great House of the North and yet I’m ten and seven and this is my first offer.”

Her mother and brother shared a long, significant look. Then her mother reclined in her seat as much as her proper ladyship would allow and closed her eyes.

“Sansa,” Robb continued contritely. “We’ve had plenty of offers from Northern houses for your hand.”

Sansa’s jaw dropped and her face drained of all color. Plenty of? This was the first she was hearing of it. Why would they not tell her?

“At first,” her mother began to answer as if Sansa had spoken the questions aloud. “it was because we knew you had suffered in King’s Landing and that you blamed yourself for the events. We heeded your father’s last requests as head of House Stark and looked not for the most advantageous match, but instead for a match with a virtuous man who would be kind and good to you.”

Robb rubbed his fingers over the creases on his forehead that had become permanent in the short years he’d been Lord Stark. “And then, in just the short time when Father ranged beyond the wall before he was elected Lord Commander, he became fixated with the wars to come and began to see we might need to solidify alliances we’d never considered before.”

“Not just House Stark with another house.” Her mother gently placed her hand on her knee. “But the whole of the North.”

Robb dropped his fingers from his head and laid both hands on the arms of his chair. “The _entire_ North.”

“So, which one did you decide on?” Sansa sighed in resignation. “Virtuous, kind and good? Or solidifying alliances?”

Robb looked her straight in the eye, a strange, tiny quirk of his lips gracing his face. “Both, actually.”

Sansa looked to the ceiling, before sarcastically muttering under her breath, “How did I get so lucky?”

“Sansa, you believe what your father and The Night’s Watch say is coming? What the Wildlings say is coming?” Catelyn showed the same fear in her eyes that Sansa had seen there for the longest time, the fear of a woman who knew her children’s lives and all the lives of those around them were in peril. “What Bran says he can see in the visions he’s had since he woke up?”

Sansa nodded certainly. “I can’t speak for the Wildlings or the other Black Brothers. But I trust Father, I trust Uncle Benjen, I trust Bran.”

“It’s the war to end all wars.” Catelyn’s voice waivered. “We have to do whatever we must to survive it.”

“We’ll get no help from the south, they think we’re all savages who weave flights of fancy to get through the dreariness of the cold.” Robb’s jaw clenched. “The North needs to band together, and not just the Houses…….but also the Watch, the Wildings, and what’s left of Stannis’ army.” Robb let out a loud breath. “I’ve just come back from a council of all those factions, where we’ve elected a King in the North.”

Sansa blanched and took a step back. “The last King in the North didn’t fare so well.”

“Stannis wasn’t a King in the North.” Robb shook his head. “Just a king who _was_ in the North. A claimant to the Iron Throne who fled to the North because he had nowhere else to go, and because he answered Father’s call to help The Watch since he felt he owed him after Father tried to do right by Stannis inheriting after Robert.”

“Stannis Baratheon didn’t die by his enemies, he died by his own inner demons.” Catelyn’s eyes fell shut and she shuddered. “As well he should’ve. Naturally his own men turned against him, having to watch Stannis burning his own daughter at the stake.”

“That is the kind of evil that comes from someone whispering in your ear that you’re owed a throne.” Robb added, his thumb rubbing across his lip in thought. “The man we’ve just elected doesn’t feel he’s owed anything. Yet he has earned the respect of everyone who is looking to survive the coming dark. He can unite the Northern houses, the Watch, the Wildlings, and those he’d taken in from Stannis’ army.”

“He’s seen what we’re facing, he’s stared it down.” Catelyn added.

Sansa furrowed her brow. “You know him?”

“I’ve never met him,” her mother admitted. “but your father wrote of him often. He ranged with him, and then when your father was elected Lord Commander, the man served as his steward.” Catelyn smiled sadly. “Ned wrote of him with great affection, it was if he viewed him as another son. The young man was instrumental in Ned’s decision to allow the Wildlings into the Gift, and stood behind that decision. When your father’s life was taken for that decision, Jon’s life was also tak—“

Robb cleared his throat loudly and Cat stopped.

“Jon?” Sansa asked quietly. “That’s his name?”

“Yes.” Robb confirmed. “He is the Lord Commander. Or he _was_.”

“Wait,” Sansa’s brow furrowed again. “how can he be my betrothed? Watch vows are for life. ‘ _I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children_ ’—that pretty much discounts his ability to be my husband.”

Robb shared the same strange, knowing look with their mother and cleared his throat again. “He was removed from his vows, his watch ended by general agreement of the Brothers, and yet he voluntarily stayed on as Lord Commander because he knew most about the oncoming threat. But now it’s agreed he’s better serving in this capacity.”

“How old is he? Who is he? Where does he come from?”

“He’s twenty, he’s Jeor Mormont’s grandson. He’s the son of Mormont’s exiled son Jorah. And he was raised on Bear Island.”

“His father’s the one who fled the country after Father sentenced him to die for selling poachers into slavery? That was over a decade ago.” Sansa’s voice lilted in disbelief. “How was this Jon allowed to join The Watch? If he was the only male left, shouldn’t he have been made to inherit?”

“Well, dear,” Cat began soothingly. “you know they do things differently on Bear Island. It’s not necessarily the—“

“He’s bastard born.” Robb admitted, interrupting his mother. Cat shot him a dirty look and he glared right back at her. “I’m not lying to her, Mother. She’s going to find out soon enough.”

Sansa nose turned up in both disgust and disbelief. “You want me to marry a bastard from Bear Island?”

“I raised you to be a proper lady, not a snob.” Catelyn sighed deeply, fingers on the bridge of her nose. “And proper ladies know to set aside prejudices when everything they hold dear in life is threatened!”

Robb held up his hand in a placating manner. “He’s a fine young man, Sansa. Raised with the Mormonts, until Jeor had him join The Watch at twelve. Kept him close, taught him the ropes, and he rose through the ranks faster than anyone in two-hundred years.”

“Even though he’s base-born, he’s _noble_ base-born. And with your father’s glowing recommendation, that’s enough for the Northern Houses.” Catelyn took Sansa’s hand. “He has the respect of the entire Watch, now that the traitors who turned on your father have been rooted out. He has the respect of the ten thousand Wildlings, he lived among them and they owe him their lives—if he and your father hadn’t acted quickly there would be far fewer of them. And he has the respect of the rest of Stannis Baratheon’s men, he saved them too and Stannis’ former Hand is one of his closest advisors.”

“No other man has those credentials, Sansa.” Robb finished. “A few other men were put forth for the job, but once they got to know Jon, they all heeded my recommendation.”

“ _Your_ recommendation? Simply because of how Father felt about him?”

“I take Father’s word above everyone’s. But no. I met him.” Robb answered. “I know him. I haven’t for long, but it doesn’t take long for people to realize Jon is something special.”

 

 

 

Sansa stood in the courtyard of Winterfell and waited for her betrothed and his party to arrive. She stood with her family, third in line beside her mother and her brother. The outside gates had opened over an hour ago for the castle’s daily influx of refugees from every direction coming to petition and seek consul from the Lord of Winterfell, and she saw no different characters than what they usually saw. Except word had arrived not long ago that the new King in the North was close by.

“Try not to look so put out!” Arya mocked playfully from the fourth spot beside her. “I know he’s not the southron prince you’d always dreamed of, but Queen in the North isn’t a bad title for you to carry!”

“I don’t want a southron prince!” Sansa seethed back. “Joffrey was a southron prince, do you think I’d still want him?” Sansa nearly spat saying his name. “It’s just a lot to take in, everything’s changing.”

“Everything was changing long before you got word of your betrothed.” Bran spoke up in the monotone voice they had now gotten used to his impassive face speaking, from his chair in the fifth spot. “All of our lives had changed long before we’d even become aware. The past is already written, the ink is dry. But we must fight for the future.”

Easy for him to say. She didn’t see him being handed over to someone he’d never met. With no lands, no title before he was elected, not even a family name. Who had spent his formative years amongst others like him, criminals seeking reprieve, and Wildlings. Or Free Folk—as Robb has told her the King in the North now wants them to be called.

Seven hells, she didn’t even get to stay in Winterfell!! The whole rest of the North is being told to come to Winterfell seeking refuge and care, but the new King—her own husband—has decided they will live in the newly restored holdfast of Queenscrown closer to Castle Black. A single tower, heavily fortified and surrounded by water.

That’s what her life had come to. She’s quick to remind herself she didn’t want to be Joffrey’s queen, wouldn’t have even if he’d lived. But it’s the Red Keep or a single stone tower standing in a pond? There’s nothing in between?

A loud and boisterous cacophony pulls her from her thoughts just as she sees a large throng of Wildli—Free Folk—make their way in. And littered among them are the black uniforms of Night’s Watchmen.

She remembered when King Robert made his way into Winterfell; his many banners, the many horns announcing his arrival, and the many litters carrying the royal household. Surely, these men are leading the way for their king. Just as she begins to strain her neck looking out the gates for signs of him, she sees the energetic ball of sass known as Lyanna Mormont fly past her and into the throng.

“Jon!”

“Ly!” One of the men in black shouts, wrapping the girl up tightly. His strong arms lift her off the ground and swing her around before putting her back on her feet. “Or should I call you Lady Mormont?”

“Do I have to call you ‘Your Grace’?” Lady Lyanna laughs.

The man ruffles what can be ruffled of Lyanna’s severe hairstyle. “Seven hells, no!”

Sansa looks over to her brother, her mouth open in disbelief that this could be the North’s new king. But her brother smiles and gestures to the man and his cousin. “There he is!”

He’s handsome. Not the slick, heavily groomed handsome of Joffrey, Loras Tyrell, and even Robb at times. No, he’s muscular and manly, with inky black curls and a chiseled face full of stubble. His growly voice even did something to her insides when she’d heard him speak.

He finally sees the receiving line and makes his way over, taking Lady Mormont’s hand on the short journey. He stands awkwardly before them, until Robb kneels first, the other Starks following his example.

“My king.”

“My king.” Catelyn mimics.

Sansa chances a look up at him and now he seems _really_ awkward. And uncomfortable. “Uh, please, Lord Stark, please rise.” His gaze travels over to Sansa, catching her blue eyes looking at him before she quickly lowers them again. “And introduce me to your family.”

They all rise to their full height. Their new king’s eyes widen a bit when he sees that standing fully, Sansa is slightly taller than him.

“My lady mother,” Robb begins, taking Cat’s arm. “The Lady Catelyn of Houses Stark and Tully.”

Jon holds out a hand, but it’s clear he means to kiss Cat’s hand, rather than the other way around. “My lady.” Jon greets as he does just that. “How great it is to finally meet you….um, both your son and his father before him spoke so very highly of you—that it’s nice to see you’re flesh and blood. I…..well, I was beginning to fear my good-mother was The Mother that those Seven always speak of. That would be quite a lot to marry into.”

Catelyn chuckles sweetly. “I am very much flesh and blood, Your Grace, but how kind of you to say.”

Robb looks around his mother to Sansa and Arya standing side by side. “Might I also present my two sisters, Sansa and Arya.”

The king merely nods his head to Sansa and gulps audibly. “Hello.” He then moves to stand in front of Arya and gestures with his chin toward her scabbard. “That’s a fine sword. It’s skinny—just like you.”

“Thank you.” Arya’s grin nearly split her face. “My father had it made for me before he headed to The Wall.”

“All the best swords have names,” Jon grinned back at her. “What’s your sword’s name.”

“Needle.”

The king snorted out a loud laugh. “Seems appropriate.”

He moved on to speak at length to Bran and Rickon, then turned back around to confer with Robb as he was talking to several of the men who’d come in.

Sansa felt the barely-restrained urge to cry, turning to her mother, who looked at her as if she didn’t know what to say. Seeing her mother unprepared in how to deal with the situation had her turning to Arya instead. And even Arya—sarcastic and rude Arya—took her hand in a comforting and sympathetic gesture, unsure of what to make of the situation.

_He doesn’t want me. He took one look at me, and he doesn’t want me._

 

 

A fortnight later, the sun was setting and a brisk chill had fallen over the whole of the kingdom, most of whom stood outside in Winterfell’s courtyard, waiting to follow their king into the adjacent godswood, where the Lord of Winterfell would walk his sister out for her to become their queen.

Inside the Lord’s chamber, Sansa had her bath and was now sitting before a mirror, her mother behind her, brushing out her long, coppery mane.

“You look more beautiful than I’d ever dreamed, sweetling.” Cat told her as the brush made it’s near thousandth stroke. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wear your hair pinned up? It’s snowing a bit, so there might be a breeze in the godswood, and it might keep it out of your face.”

Sansa finished buttoning the bodice of her gown—the gown she’d been working on day and night before the King in the North arrived—and smoothed berry juice over her lips. “Well then I should definitely wear it down, maybe my hair will obscure my face and he’ll forget that he’s marrying me.”

“We’ve been over this.” Cat let out an audible sigh and the brush stilled in Sansa’s hair. “Robb has assured me that he doesn’t find fault with you.”

“Oh well, that’s a relief.” Sansa said, devoid of emotion as she rubbed oil into her cheeks and her forehead. “Now we know that he just finds me inconsequential and not worth the breath it took to greet all the other members of my family he _wouldn’t be marrying_.”

Cat moved in front of Sansa and helped her put on the silver rings her family had made to mark the occasion of her nuptials. “He has so much on his mind—more probably than any other king in recent memory. The only time _I’ve_ really even spoken to him has been when Robb and I have discussed logistical matters pertaining to Winterfell being the seat of protection for the kingdom.”

“So I guess I can now be angry and despairing towards my mother and brother in addition to my new husband?” Sansa stood and smoothed down the embroidered skirts of her gown. “Seeing as I was kept out of those meetings…….even though I’m minutes away from becoming queen of said kingdom?”

Cat lifted Sansa’s chin. “Sansa, it’s not ideal. There is nothing these days that is.” She tucked some hair behind Sansa’s ear. “All we can do is try to use every tool at our disposal to make the situation better.”

“I’m so scared.” Sansa’s eyes watered and her lip began to tremble. “I’m not like Arya. All the tools I have are for being pleasant and keeping a good home—all the things a lord or southron king would want in his queen. And what good is that? What do I have to offer this man? How will I be anything other than a burden?”

“Arya’s just like him. He doesn’t need someone just like him. But you are set apart…… you’re strong, you’re kind, and you’re clever.” Cat cupped Sansa’s cheek. “If he’s half the man worthy of his title, he’ll see how the kingdom will use those qualities to its advantage, and then they’ll write songs about you that will be sung for millennia to come.”

 

 

The music was boisterous, the dancing was jubilant and all the many festive were deep into their cups inside Winterfell’s Great Hall. Yet the King in the North had barely partaken of a single goblet, and instead sat at the table of honor, his cheek laid against his fist, his thoughts deep and troubled.

“Ahh, for fuck’s sake, Snow!” The tall, loud Wildling—Free Folk, damn that would be hard to remember—Sansa had seen arrive with him in Winterfell’s courtyard, shouted at her new husband. “You look like someone just killed that fucking stupid wolf of yours….” he smiled obscenely at Sansa. “…..rather than just having married this beautiful young lady!”

“She’s a queen now, Tormund.” Jon gruffed, trying to hide a grin. “I don’t care if you call me king, but she should be shown the proper respect.”

“Forgive me.” Tormund bowed mockingly. “I would bend the knee for this lovely, kissed-by-fire queen but hopefully, you’re smart enough to realize you should be the one kneeling before her, kissing something else.”

Jon roughly cleared his throat at Tormund’s comment—that Sansa didn’t quite understand—and sat up straighter in his chair, sheepishly looking over at her. “He’s much nicer than he appears—just as stupid—but nicer.”

Sansa smiled slightly. “Was he jesting about you having a wolf, my king?”

“Call me Jon, please.” Jon kindly waved his hand. “And no, he wasn’t jesting. I have a white direwolf that I found as a pup along the King’s Road. It was one of the first signs something sinister was headed our way, actually. Direwolves aren’t supposed to be south of The Wall. He’s white and his name is Ghost.”

“Sinister name,” Sansa chuckled lowly. “But he’s _not_ sinister, is he?”

“Only if you try to take his supper.” Jon chuckled in return. “Or threaten someone he loves. And don’t worry, I can’t see how he’d feel anything but love for you.”

Sansa’s heart leapt in her chest and she looked down to his hand clenched on the arm of his chair, his knuckles white against the wood. She then noticed something peeking out of his belt.

“Your pommel.” She pointed to it. “It’s a white wolf.”

He turned his head and saw where her finger pointed. “Oh yes, um, my grandfather had a new pommel put on the family sword before he gave it to me.”

“What was it before?”

His smirked before taking a sip from his goblet. “A bear.”

She smiled brightly. “This suits you better, my —“ she stopped herself, before continuing weakly. “um, my love.”

He choked on his wine. “Yes, maybe the sword was foreshadowing what I’d marry into.” He smiled shyly at her. “You seemed unsure. About the endearment.”

She tilted her head. “It just didn’t sound right, did it? This _is_ the longest conversation we’ve ever had.”

“Jon is fine, if I might call you Sansa.” He paused when she furrowed her brow. “What did your parents call each other?”

“They said ‘ _my love’_.” She paused when his brow furrowed this time. “Though she tells me it was many years before they called each other that. So yes, ‘ _Jon and Sansa_ ’ is just fine for now.”

 

 

Sansa had been instructed by both her mother and new husband that to avoid the bedding ceremony, she should sneak out of the Great Hall and he would join her when he could a little later, so as not to tip anyone off. She carefully crept into the corridor only to find an older man pacing the path she was headed down.

“Ser…?”

“Davos, Your Grace.” The man touched his hand to his chest and made a slight bow. “Davos Seaworth.”

She smiled softly. “My husband’s Hand.”

“I was honored he would bestow such a position on me.” Davos smiled back and held out his arm. “His Grace asked that I ensure you made it to your chambers.”

“I’m not sure you’ll be so honored with the position when you find out all it entails.” Sansa looped her hand over the offered arm. “Being Hand to a king who’s fighting off a cataclysmic attack from an army of the dead is surely not to be enjoyable. Although—“ she stopped herself before she continued her thought.

“Although being Hand to Stannis Baratheon can’t have been terribly enjoyable, either?” He chuckled, flexing non-existent fingers. “You are correct, Your Grace. But for very different reasons.”

Sansa looked straight ahead down the corridor. “I shouldn’t consider it too ominous that the last king and queen you served ended up being killed by their own men?”

Davos lowered his head. “All I can tell you is they were not killed by me. I _did_ help your husband and father prosecute and execute the men who did kill them. And that is because I agreed that people shouldn’t be judged or killed by mob violence—even if you sympathize with the mob.”

“Sympathize with the mob?” Sansa stopped in her tracks. “You were sworn to serve and defend Stannis.”

“If kings can burn innocent young girls at the stake, then we were all better off under Joffrey Baratheon, we were all better off under the Mad King.” Davos looked her right in the eye. “And then what happened to the both of them wasn’t justice.”

“You know my family _did_ feel both of their deaths were justice.” Sansa shrugged, smiling gently. “I guess I’m just looking for assurances the same thing won’t happen to my husband and myself.”

“I was following Jon Snow back before he was King in the North, back before he was Lord Commander. I realized back when he was nothing but a good man that he is the one to lead us through the Long Night. I believed it to be true then, and I know it to be true now.” Coming upon the bedchamber door, he stopped and brought her hand to brush his lips. “Although I curse the day I ever met her, if Jon Snow wasn’t destined to lead us, how did the Red Woman bring him back?”

“Red Woman?” Sansa shook her head and narrowed her eyes. “Brought him back? Where was he?”

Davos quirked a brow at her. “Not my story to tell, Your Grace. But I know Jon isn’t one to keep secrets from the woman he belongs to by oath. If you ask, he’ll tell.”

 

 

 

 


	2. Newly-Wedded Queen

Sansa’s anticipation and trepidation had eased as the hours went by and her cheek fell heavily enough on the warm pillow to allow her to drift slightly into sleep. But her eyes shot open when she heard a loud clang followed by a barely-muffled, “Fuck.”

She feigned sleep and stayed clutching the pillow, counting the footfalls she could hear against the stone floor. Just when she felt a tiny tug on the furs covering her, she released her grip on the pillow and reached for what was under it instead.

And that was how the new King in the North found himself standing beside his wedding bed in his smallclothes, a carved and bone-handled knife pressed into his throat by his bride.

His eyes almost bulged out of his head. “Fuck, Sansa!!!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!!” The knife fell out of her hand and loudly clattered to the floor as she put her hands over her eyes in embarrassment. “I’m just not built for this, I’m sorry. You must be so disappointed in me.” Her muffled voice shook as she began to cry.

Jon looked around the room uncertainly, then back to his weeping wife, pulling her hands away from her face. “What are you talking about, sweetling?”

“The man with the red beard. The Wildl—Free Folk—gods, I can’t even remember to call them that!”

Jon’s eyes narrowed as he sat on the bed. “What about him?”

“He told me there was this Free Folk ritual called ‘stealing’, that you wanted to do,” Sansa tried in vain to still her trembling lower lip. “he gave me that knife during the feast and told me you expected me not to make it easy for you.”

Jon’s mouth gaped open before he let out a loud snort, nearly crying and doubling over with laughter. But he instantly sobered when he saw that her face was now less mortified and more insulted. “No, Sansa, no. I’m not laughing at you—I’m laughing…..well, Tormund was playing a joke on me.”

Sansa’s eyes grew wide, then she turned her head away from him. Jon thought she’d gone back to crying until he saw the side of her mouth that was visible turned up in a smile. “You’re a king now. You should have his head chopped off.”

He reached over to wipe one last tear from her face with his finger. “Aye, I might consider it.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Is this the kind of thing I should be expecting now that I’m your queen?”

Jon let his fingers drift over to cup the back of her neck, his thumb grazing along her jaw. “I’d love to be able to say no, but………”

“Now I definitely think you should have married Arya.” Sansa chewed her lip.

“I wish I could give you sophistication and luxury—“

“I don’t expect that!” She slapped her hand against the furs. “Why does everyone think I expect that?!”

He soothingly held up his other hand. “I didn’t say you expect it. Just that I wish I could give it to you.”

“Oh,” she whispered apologetically. “I guess we both thought our lives would be something different.”

“Yes, we did.” He whispered. “It’s why I could barely speak to you when we first met.”

Sansa’s heart fell and she looked down to her lap in defeat, feeling tears threatening her eyes again.

“Gods, I already thought you were intimidating from the way your father spoke of you. Knew you were something special, something the likes of which I’d never dreamt.” Jon’s eyes were gazing at her in adoration when she hopefully looked back up at him. “But then I saw you the first time and realized that not only were you _all those things,_ you were also the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on?” He laughed lightly. “What could the likes of me say to you? I could barely remember my own name.”

That one admittance had Sansa viewing their first meeting in a whole new light. “How……how…….um, how did my father speak of me? I can’t imagine it was in any way that could be of use to you.”

Jon chuckled, tucking a strand of her mussed hair behind her ear. “You don’t think ‘ _brave, resourceful, and selfless’_ is of any use to me?”

Sansa’s jaw dropped and she shook her head, not quite believing her father had used those words to describe her. “Are you sure you have the right daughter?”

Again, Jon laughed softly. “Quite sure.”

“He was probably just being kind.” She croaked over a dry mouth.

“Your father _was_ kind.” Jon affirmed before shaking his head. “But he was never dishonest. He believed it so strongly that I believed it too. Even before I met you.”

“I hope I am not a disappointment to you.”

“Sansa,” he whispered worshipfully. “you are a delight to me.”

She felt her heartrate speed up, her thoughts pound in her ears, and her skin prickle hot and tight. She began to pull at the ribbon holding the front of her nightgown together, until he reached for her trembling hand.

“You’re shaking.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips over the join of her neck and shoulder. “You’ve nothing to fear from me. I’ll never hurt you……..and I’ll kill anyone else who tries with my bare hands.” He chuckled lowly and looked away sheepishly. “Which is probably not the right thing to say if you’re trying to convince someone not to be afraid of you.”

“I’m not afraid of you, I’m just….I’m well…..I _am_ afraid.”

“But not of _me_?”

Sansa shook her head. “I know it’s not the same as you’re used to—with your time fighting in wild lands with free women, but I’m….I’m a maid, Jon.”

“I know.” Jon took the neglected ribbon and began pulling at it slowly, as not to frighten her. “Sansa, my life hasn’t been as wild as you seem to think. I’ve only been with one woman. And it was a woman I loved.”

She stilled his hand by gently grasping his wrist. “Should I expect to share you with her?”

He didn’t answer for several long moments and licked his lips. “No. Even if she’d lived.” He carefully twisted until it was _his_ hand gently grasping _her_ wrist. He brushed a kiss over her pulsepoint. “I’m yours by oath. I fear not the gods, but I want what we have to be true, Sansa. I realize right now it’s not as strong as it will one day be—but always true.”

“Always true.” She gulped. She brought his hand to her chest, over her heart, and she giggled when he gasped at the pounding he felt through the skin. “I hope what we have will not get _too_ much stronger, as I fear if it does, my heart might beat right out of my chest.”

He softly traced over the ruffles topping her gown, his eyes glazing over with barely-hidden desire. “Can I see you?”

She nodded and slowly shimmied the garment up over body, not pausing until it was off, fearing to look at him. When she finally did, her porcelain face felt hot at the lustful look on his. He let out an almost-whimper when she laid herself back on the bed before him. He traced a finger between her breasts and dipped into her navel, leaning forward to tongue her stiffening nipples.

Before he let his touch travel lower, he raised his eyes to her. “Are you wet?”

“Wet?” She furrowed her brow.

“Between your legs.” He whispered into her neck.

“I’m definitely something.” She whined slightly. “Mainly warm, but I don’t know about wet.”

“Sansa, I want to do something to you.” He let his teeth lightly graze over her collarbone. “You might feel uncomfortable with embarrassment if I do it. But it will be even more uncomfortable for you if I don’t.” He paused to brush a finger over the apple of her cheek. “And I promised I’d never hurt you.”

She nodded and chanced a press of her lips on his forehead. “I trust you.”

He smiled proudly at her words and began rubbing his fingers into the muscles of her upper arms and belly. “I’ll have to take the furs off. Do you need me to stoke the fire so you’re not cold?”

She pushed her head back into the pillow. “I’m not cold. I might never be cold again.”

His grin was feral as he began his descent of her body, lightly brushing his lips over her skin, stopping ever so often to press open mouth kisses and traces of tongue into the spaces of her ribs and the dips of her hipbone. “Your skin is delicious. I can’t wait to see how the rest of you tastes.”

“The rest of me?”

She looked down in time to see him kneel on the floor, grateful her new husband had at least a rug to ward of the hardness and chill of the stone beneath him. She didn’t understand what he was doing until he gently grasped her calves, rubbing into the muscle with his thumbs, and placed them on his shoulders.

He leaned in slowly and took a deep breath in through his nose, sighing blissfully before he slid his whole tongue up the length of her slit, then flicked over her clit with the tip.

She let out a deep, broken cry.

“This is what Tormund was talking about me doing on my knees for you.”

“You should really have his head chopped off.” A whine escaped from deep in her throat as his mouth devoured her. “After you finish doing what he suggested, of course.”

“Of course.” He chuckled and the vibration against her almost make her choke. “It brings me such pride and honor to know that no one else will ever have the chance to agree or disagree with me, but I know it in my bones that you have the prettiest, most delicious cunt that ever was.”

She threaded her fingers into his silky hair and pressed her curled toes into the muscles of his back. “Where did you ever learn to do and say such wicked, wonderful things?”

“Men—noble or base born.” He palmed her ass as he licked her through again, then placed a gentle nip into her inner thigh. “They talk a lot more than women do.”

“Maybe women should talk more often if this is the kind of thing we could learn.”

He laughed loudly, tonguing up the crease of her thigh before sucking on her clit. “Aye. Maybe.”

His mouth moved back and forth over her, and his tongue didn’t stop its work until her breath trembled, her cunt was soaked, and her delicious scent permeated the whole of the room. A pretty pink had flushed her heaving chest and straining tendons of her neck.

“If you’re looking for me to be wet.” She began to pull lightly on fistfuls of hair. “I think you’ve achieved your goal.”

“No.” He shook his head and she gasped when his tongue went side to side with the movement. “I’m not stopping till you come.”

“Uhhh, Jon, I don’t know….I don’t know if that’s something I’m even capable of.”

“You are.” Jon thumbed back and forth over her clit as his index finger slid into her slick cunt. He paused while her muscles clenched around him and she thrashed her head against the pillow. “You’re capable of everything I believe you to be, Queen Sansa of the North.”

She lifted her head and looked down at him, her skin gleaming with sweat. “Gods, I want you.”

“You have me.” He sped up the gentle, slick thrusting of his finger inside her, not even stopping when she began to tense and shake. His lips glistened in the firelight with what Sansa realized was her own wetness. “Please come for me.”

Her mouth opened and a ferocious, wolf-like howl escaped from her lungs as she came long and hard. Her body quaked as the upper part lifted of its own accord off the bed before easing itself back down again. He rose off the ground and kissed his way back up her trembling body, laying down and molding himself against her side while palming her rose-tipped breast.

“How could you doubt that you are the fiercest woman who ever lived?”

Breathless and lust-addled, she looked over at him, then turned to her side and pressed herself on top of him. She felt something hard poking against her and looked down, running her hand over the strip of skin above his smallclothes. “The thing you just did? Can women do that to men?”

He chuckled lowly. “Aye. But let’s hold off on that, yeah?” He took her hand and kissed her palm. “Or else our wedding night will be over before it begins.”

“Seems like it’s begun to me.” She leaned in to kiss his neck. “Wonderful beginning.”

Hours later, after they had fully enjoyed their wedding night and their sweat had cooled them, they laid on their sides facing each other beneath the furs.

He pressed his lips to her wrist. “I think this is why I was brought back. To be yours.”

She stopped her kisses under his jaw and pulled her face back. “Davos said something like that.” Her voice trembled as she whispered. “I’m your wife. I can keep your secrets. I want to know your tales. Tell me.”

His eyes moistened and he took a deep breath. “When they killed you father, they killed me too.”

“How?” She shook her head, cupping her hand behind his neck. “How are you here with me?’

“The red priestess who traveled with Stannis, she brought me back from the dead.” He shook his head too. “I don’t know how, I don’t know why. And I banished the Red Woman once Davos discovered she was behind Stannis’ decision to burn his daughter. So I may never know.”

“Lying here, naked and beside me…..do you care?”

“No.” He told her truthfully. “But I know now that whatever destiny I’m a part of, it was incomplete until I saw you walk into the godswood. I know now that I was incomplete until I saw your face.”

“I know one day I could be a great queen.” Sansa whispered, running her hand through the hair at his temple. “Be the queen that you and my father always believed I could be.”

“Not could be……. _will be_.” He cradled her head and claimed her mouth. “My love.”

 

 

**TWO YEARS LATER**

Winterfell’s courtyard was packed to capacity, the ladies of Northern houses walking through every few minutes to make sure everyone was behaving, warm, well-fed, and receiving proper treatment from the maester. Catelyn looked down the causeway to see Septa Bernade coming toward her with a baby in each arm.

“They’ll need to be fed again soon, milady,” the septa said of the sick orphans. “if Maester Luwin believes they’ll only recover with mother’s milk properly soothing them back into health.”

“Yes.” Catelyn sighed, wiping her hands on her skirts. “The wet-nurses will also need more food than the others, to be strong enough to keep up with them.”

The Lady of Winterfell began to turn the corner into the larders, ordering a stable hand to fetch more wood for the courtyard grates as she went. Then she began to hear the people back in the courtyard shout out in gratitude.

“Thank you, Your Grace!”

“May the gods bless you!”

“Seven blessings to you, Your Grace!”

“You saved our lives!”

“I’ll name my first child after you!”

Cat quickly made her way back around the corner. Since he’d arrived that morning, Jon had scarcely left the meeting the top wardens of his kingdom had been having in the Lord’s study. And she’d have to catch him if she was to tell him they’d need to dip into Karhold’s grainstores again if all these people were to be fed.

She saw Ghost padding after his master, so she knew the king was close by, but when she turned back into the courtyard, she heard something that made her stop in her tracks:

“My children owe you their lives, Queen Sansa. Gods bless you!”

Cat turned her head just in time to catch a glimpse of a tall woman with kissed-by-fire hair cascading down her back. She took off in a dead run and cried out. “Sansa!”

Sansa turned to face her and Cat could hardly believe her eyes. It had been over a year since she’d last seen her daughter, and if it’d been anyone but her own mother, they wouldn’t have recognized this woman as the same scared girl who’d married the King in the North two years ago.

She was wearing a dark blue cloak fringed with grayish-white fur, had a sword sheathed at her side, and a forehead tiara with a bright green stone resting between her brows. She looked tired, but _regal_ …….and more alive than Cat had ever remembered seeing her.

Sansa smiled serenely, the snow falling gently into her hair. “Hello, Mother.” She opened her arms and walked to Cat.

Cat nearly fell into her with relief. “You look better than anything I’ve seen in a long time.”

“So do you.”

Cat looked down at her muddy skirts and touched her unkempt hair. “No, I look a positive mess.”

“We’re all different than we were.” Sansa ran her fingers down Cat’s arm and grasped her hand, Cat feeling the silver rings Sansa had been given as a wedding gift. “But we’re all stronger for it.” She leaned in and kissed her mother’s cheek. “Have you seen my husband?”

Cat nodded. “He’s in the study with Robb and the others. Shall I send word for him?”

“No, they know I’m coming.” She walked away and up the stairs, whistling to the gentle beast walking the pathways. “Ghost! With me!”

Cat stared after her daughter with a sweet smile upon her face until she saw an old woman looking at her strangely. Finally, the woman spoke.

“You know Her Grace?”

Cat nodded. “She’s my daughter.”

The old woman walked to Cat and kindly took her hand. “She saved my life, she did. Saved all our lives.”

Cat furrowed her brow. “The work Jon did was enough that you thank Queen Sansa as well?”

“No, milady. Queen Sansa was the one who saved us.” She looked around to the others in the courtyard. “A great horde had descended upon us when we were expecting food and medicine from her royal guards. Queen Sansa was with the guards when it happened and she had them escort us to Last Hearth while she and a handful of others created a diversion.”

“What kind of diversion?”

“Don’t really know. ‘Cause only she and the giant lived.” The woman clutched her chest in reverence. “But Her Grace had sent us with a message for the Umbers to set the trenches afire, even if she hadn’t arrived yet. Finally, we saw as she held on to Wun-Wun’s back while they single-handedly fought off the horde, the two of them only just making it over the trenches before the flames were too high for even the giant to cross.”

Cat’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “Queen Sansa did that?”

The old woman kissed Cat’s cheek. “You must be quite the lady to have raised such a queen as our Queen in the North.”

The old woman walked away and Cat looked up at the sky just in time for the snowfall to cease. She laughed with joy, feeling for the very first time…….that they might survive all this.

 

 

Jon leaned over the table in the Lord’s study, staring at the same map he’d been staring at for an hour, listening as Ser Davos, Robb and Lord Hornwood went over the plans for refortification and resettlement of the Gift that would take place after the cold thawed. His head hurt, his stomach ached, and he had a general sense of unease.

That all lifted when the guard opened the door and said, “The Queen’s arrived, Your Grace.”

Jon looked over, and seeing his wife’s face as she walked in, nearly knocked the map-markers over in his haste to reach her. They embraced strongly.

“My love.” She uttered truthfully, lips pressing into his cheek.

“I received word of your latest heroic endeavors.” He said into her hair, still holding onto their embrace. “I’d tell you not to risk your life as such, but you’d just tell me the same thing you told me last time you did it.”

Sansa chuckled in his ear. “If you mean ‘ _shut it, you do the exact same thing’_ , then aye, I would.”

“My queen.” Ser Davos grinned and nodded.

Sansa grinned back at him as she and Jon pulled apart. “I hope I haven’t missed too much.”

“Hardly anything.” Jon admitted matter-of-factly. “After all, my mind _does_ work better with you near.”

“Well, I’m here now.” She took his hand in hers.

Jon smiled at her gratefully. “You’re here now.”

 

 


End file.
